Out of Sight
by Late to the Party
Summary: Fate has a place for each of us, a path dictated, demanded. But if choices find us straying from that path, how will events play out? What if two gods should rise, where two mortals should fall? What if the catalyst that stops the rise of tyrants should be diverted and events take place without her? AU.
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**Disclaimer: With the exception of Tes/Coif, I don't own any of the names, characters, setting contained within Bioware/Black Isle/Interplay does. **

**A/N: It's been a while since I wrote a fic for BG. The idea was knocking around in my head from a certain mage's line (which coincidently is also the opening line). The rest of it just sort of happened. This story might've done better in first person, but third is how it came out (with one line's early exception). I'll leave you, dear readers, to decide how successful it was. **

**Reviews, as always, are most welcome. Enjoy!**

**Written within a day, LttP.**

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1

"You may take me, but you will take the girl as well."

That was the last time Imoen ever saw her sister. They had skipped town, Beregost then Nashkel, staying one step ahead of the hunters. The night they watched Gorion cut down was where it all went wrong, though they never spoke of it. It brought them closer together than either thought possible. And then she was gone.


	2. 2

2

Imoen wasn't even sure how it had happened. After the new Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate, some merchant cartel's son, declared war on the southern lands of Amn, she and Coif decided they had taken the wrong road and Waterdeep or Neverwinter would have been a better choice. Cowl and Coif, that's what they called each other. Coif joked that if Helm could name himself for a piece armour, she could too. Immy had to go one better, and pulled a cloak over her shoulders and somehow the name stuck. Coif's real name was Tesiliana, Tes for short, but after the bounty notes, Coif was safer.

The road south was plagued with bandits when they arrived in Beregost, and without work and only the small amount of coin they had recovered from Gorion's… body, they realised they had to come up with a plan and fast. Staying put was out of the question, so Coif suggested that instead of 'bar-wenching', they posed as bards. It seemed safe enough until they were almost slain by a feral dwarf in the Red Sheaf Inn. Hightailing it out onto the street seemed like the only sensible option, and after madly dashing through the alleyways and through numerous lines of laundry, they had landed headlong in a patrol of Flaming Fist, which had not only set Immy groaning, but considering converting just before they were killed. Coif stared up with teary eyes with her best impression of a hapless puppy and snatched the guard's hand pleading frantically about the deranged dwarf.

That was when the axe-wielding maniac caught up to them. Immy was sure he was frothing at the mouth, his stinky chain mail caught in numerous washing lines. It was almost comical. The guard, of course, had immediately drawn his sword, as had his comrades. Rather than standing down, the dwarf went berserk and ended up putting at least two guards in the infirmary. After he was cut down, she had the wits to snatch his belt purse while Coif laid on the simpering and gratitude.

Unfortunately, it saw both of them hauled before the guards' lieutenant, Jessa Vai. Those were no-nonsense eyes if Immy had ever seen them, and she immediately saw through the tears and ordered they hand over the contents of dwarf's purse. Immy knew she shouldn't have snatched five of his twenty gold pieces. 'Still drinking his last bounty', Vai had put it dryly as she examined the note. Then she looked sharply at Coif and that's when the story spilled out. Gorion, cut down trying to protect her. Vai accepted their tale of half sisters, born to the same mother and raised together. She even accepted Coif was on her way to be a novice when they were ambushed, that her dream was to become a paladin. What she didn't accept was the bounty notice with Coif's likeness. Coif explained sorrowfully that she could only have been targeted because of her mother, who had obviously made enemies in the past, and they were on their way to meet her in Amn. At this point, Vai had fetched them both one of the flattest, most sceptical stares either one of them had ever seen. In her patrol armour, her orange mane matched the Fist's emblem a little too perfectly.

"The roads are full of bandits. Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"

They exchanged looks, and Immy had shrugged. "We were travelling from Waterdeep–"

"And when I show your likeness to the innkeep at the Friendly Arm Inn, what will he say? Do you happen to recall his name?"

"Uh…" Immy scrunched up her face, but Coif sighed petulantly.

"How'm I meant to remember every innkeep's name?"

Vai folded her arms, then leaned forwards. "I could have you imprisoned for disturbing the peace."

"You wouldn't!"

"Then tell me the truth." She leaned back. "Why don't you mull it over in a cell?"

Their darting looks became startled.

"Guard."

That was the first night they had ever spent in a cell. They had one to themselves, but in the other cells were beggars and petty thieves. A halfling who spouted vile oaths and jeered, until the guard smacked the bars. The bunk-bench was cold, hard and had it been straw, Immy was sure it would have been full of lice and other bugs. The latrine was a bucket, but since they got the cell in the far corner, they were out of sight of everyone else. Lazing back on the bunk, Immy mimed a shrug at her friend. Coif frowned and paced the room. There was a small window looking out into the sunny afternoon. Imoen knew she was plotting something, and wouldn't share until she thought all the details through. Coif was like that. Sometime after the sun went down, they were brought a bowl of stew. Both girls sniffed it, and Immy remembered how she took the first sip, made a face and then tucked in. Coif ignored it for a moment or two, then quaffed it quicker than she had. Amazingly, the bread wasn't as hard or as stale as they expected, and didn't contain bugs. They washed it down with weak ale. The next morning, they were treated to porridge and milk. Immy wondered if all prisoners got treated this well, but decided probably not.

"Perhaps you're feeling more talkative." Their warden greeted them as they were hauled before her. "I don't have long, and we're out on patrol for the next two days. I hope last night persuaded your tongue to truth."

Neither girl had got much, if any sleep, and the thought of spending even more time in that cold, hard bunk made Immy shiver. Coif simply stood there and tried not to sniff.

"I can't help you if you won't let me. The law is here to protect."

Finally Coif met Immy's glance and shrug and sighed. "We need to get to Amn."

"And that paladin story?"

"I do want to become one."

"Paladins aren't permitted to lie."

She made a face.

Vai sighed. "I can't let you go. The roads are too dangerous."

"We can't stay here!" Immy grabbed Coif's arm. "They'll kill her!"

"Who?"

"Whoever posted that notice! You could find out."

"It would help if you told me your names. Your _real_ names."

"Then they'd know you found us." Coif's tone was just off-sullen. "How can we trust you? What about your men?"

That had definitely been the wrong thing to say, and Immy knew it even before Vai's stare could harden. Yanking Coif's arm and hissing in her ear had succeeded in producing a slightly abashed, if sullenly defiant face. Vai was only slightly appeased, but accepted it. Of course, it was too late to ask that they go to Waterdeep or Neverwinter, which in hindsight, Immy later decided, really would have been a much better choice. Probably.

Coif made an argument for why being locked up would be a bad thing, which gained an increasingly raised eyebrow from Vai, and concluded that it would be like poisoning the proverbial fish in the barrel, before loosing crossbows into it. "So you should just let us go."

"So you can turn tail and head in the opposite direction to Amn?"

"Our blood will be on your hands."

"Or I could pack you onto a cart and haul you into the city." Vai mused. "I could have you sent to Fort Beluarian."

"Chult!" Coif exclaimed, and Vai's expression became less and less impressed.

"A novice." She shook her head. "I can have you on a ship embarking at Athkatla, if you can pay passage."

Imoen remembered how her face had fallen, and how defiant Coif looked.

"And if we can't?"

"Then you'll be set loose in the city until you can."

"With bounty hunters after me?"

"The Flaming Fist is not a charity." Vai paused. "Besides, I'm sure you can find work onboard. If you are who you claim, surely your mother will be able to extend the funds. A mage could be reimbursed for his spell."

She had them and they all knew it.

"So will you accept my help or not?"


	3. 3

3

The city of coin did not have paving slabs of gold, but its harbour reeked of fish and less desirable scents. The 'aroma of death', as Coif so poetically put it, clung to the very stones and hung in the air like the fish vapours. Imoen wasn't complaining. The ship had been battered by the waves, and 'unkind in its passage', Coif summarised their journey after they had wobbled shakily onto mostly dry land. That it was raining made the city seem even less inviting, as instead of cleaning the docks, it just made the stench worse.

The shipmaster had already accepted their coin, and Vai's sharp words, whatever they had been, but they had seen left to their own devices in one of the smaller sections of the hold. It wasn't exactly a cabin, but it was relatively private. Neither of them could face meals, and spent most of the journey with their heads in two buckets. Whatever Vai had arranged involved them being greeted by a man in what Immy presumed was his early thirties, or late twenties, and seemed to think himself a knight stepped out of a storybook. He turned out to be a 'squire' from the 'Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart', and more than a little annoying, as he liked to brag a lot about his numerous victories over the forces of evil. The docks, apparently, were a nest of vile thieves with twisted hearts and the slums bred such villainy, but Helm was always vigilant. 'The Watcher Sees All', he proclaimed, offering a glare at a hooded passerby who seemed to be watching their cart. Coif had already leant further back into the cart and let her own hood cover her face. 'Know that and be judged.'

At first, Immy was interested, but soon lost interest as she took in the city. It was so much bigger than what she had seen of Baldur's Gate, which wasn't much, admittedly, but there were more people than either girl could have imagined. All crowded together. The roads were just as bumpy and the hooded carriage bounced it way along the cobblestones.

Coif was silent, seemingly drinking in each of the squire's words, but Immy knew better. She was figuring a way out of this mess; Immy didn't actually mind; it actually seemed relatively fun, an adventure. She also noticed Coif was noting the city guard and checkpoints, something she always forgot about. Coif was always big on 'planning' and making sure there was an escape route. It made sense, but the amount of effort she put in seemed a little unnecessary. It's not as if they had anywhere to flee _to_, and now they were actually in Amn, Imoen wasn't sure where they were headed next. Bounty hunters wouldn't be delayed by bandits forever; they probably _were_ bandits, and associated with the nasty, smelly old hobgoblins. At that point, Imoen had sighed, and the Squire – Anomen – had taken it as a sign that the rain was distressing her, and not his incessant blathering. Amongst his chatter, Coif picked up that he had a sister, Moria, not that Immy really cared, but wondered why she would comment on it. Anomen's features darkened and he became tight lipped. Immy mimed a shrug, but Coif put her hand over his gauntlet. The squire hesitated, and didn't yank his hand back. Instead he smiled uncertainly. Imoen rolled her eyes, and silently pretended to vomit. Coif's smile spoke to Anomen, while her eyes flashed daggers at Imoen, who grinned.

"So my lady, tell me of yourself?"

"I hope to be a paladin." Coif told him calmly.

"But surely… a lady…"

She fixed him a look that made him writhe. "Are there not lady knights in your order?"

"Of course." He declared proudly, then wavered, "but they are…"

"Yes?"

"Of noble birth and trained for battle, and you my lady are… have you ever lifted a sword?"

"Not yet." Coif smiled up at him, stroking his gauntlet. "I was hoping to find a teacher."

"The life of a paladin is one wrought with danger and not for the faint hearted." Anomen frowned. "Do you both wish to join the Order?"

"My sister is in need of constant care," Coif could sound unkind in the sweetest of tones when she wished. "She wants to be a bard, but Mother won't let her crawl through taverns and slum."

"Quite so." The squire agreed, lapping her every word without realising the trap he had already sat in.

Coif lowered her voice. "She's a bit of a fey spirit, if you know what I mean."

He nodded seriously.

Imoen couldn't believe her ears and alternated between glaring and gesturing. Coif's single glance was of annoyance telling her to hush and trust her. Grumbling silently, Imoen did just that. By the time they reached the gates of the Radiant Heart, Anomen had fervently sworn to defend 'the Lady Liana's' honour, and the shame and scandal of her birth, or her missing mother's whereabouts would impede her journey. Even Coif had to roll her eyes at that one, Imoen decided, but watched while she graced her 'champion' with a small, shy smile that lit his face like 'the dawn on the hills', as Coif regaled her later in their shared cell.

That night, they ate well for the first time in a tenday. Anomen sat by Coif's side and ensured any whispers were silenced by glaring at the younger members of the order and suggestions and threats of a duel. They weren't permitted to eat with the higher echelons, and after dinner they were summoned to the Prelate Wessalen, where Anomen was promptly dismissed.

"So." The prelate held a letter in his hand. "A member of the Flaming Fist claims that she found you being pursued by a bounty hunter. After taking you into her care, she sent you here, to us, in the hopes you will fulfil your dream of joining our ranks. She notes that your mother, though of noble birth, cannot be contacted and you fear that something may have happened. It seems your guardian was also slain."

At dinner, Anomen had mentioned Wessalen was one of the three prelates in the Order, and deserving of respect. He seemed to be at least forty, if not older, Imoen decided, and his hair was grey and he wore several noticeable scars. 'Severe' seemed to be the word of the watch.

"Know you cannot lie to me. Falsehood is not permitted in the Watcher's halls. Speak, and verify these claims."

Coif looked up at him, at first seeming very small and then drawing herself up. It was a terrific piece of theatre, Imoen thought, but wasn't certain it would fool the prelate. Wessalen's eyes seemed to be even worse than Vai's, and even worse than the stuffy old Ulraunt at home. Maybe those two would have got on well, she commented to Coif when they were finally alone. "You think we come to you to beg? We might be penniless, but knowledge brings riches gold can never achieve."

"An Oghmanyte, are you? The Fist officer mentioned you were a novice. You have yet to answer my question, girl."

"I don't know what happened to my mother. My guardian was cut down and I think it was because of her. I think whoever ordered the bounty wants to use me against her."

"Your accent places you far from Candlekeep, but that is the closest Oghmanyte temple to Beregost."

"I never said I followed Oghma." Her eyes flared. "You're meant to stand for justice. That's why I came here. To serve and seek Justice. It isn't Revenge to want Justice, and my guardian was unlawfully slain. If you can't provide that, I'll find another means. They're not going to stop coming after me. If you can't protect me from – from – I don't even remember her face. If you don't want me, put us on the next ship to Neverwinter, and – and I'll petition Tyr. If your Watcher won't have me, maybe he will."

Wessalen considered her. "Very well. You may stay, provided you are willing to earn your keep."

She nodded, the very image of penitent obedience.

"And you girl?"

"I'm not going anywhere without her." Imoen grabbed Coif's arm and clung. "You can't make us."

He nodded slowly, his thinned gaze already thoughtful. "You'll begin tomorrow."


	4. 4

4

News from the north was bleak. Within two months, war was official. Rumours of war had spread around the 'barracks', over hushed voices behind flagons. The squires were particularly perky, relishing the opportunity to prove their worth in battle, but their elders were grim. Stationed under one Keldorn Firecam – 'Sir Firecam' – an elderly knight who brought a blade to life in a blur of flashing light, Coif began her training. Imoen watched from the side, preferring not to commit her all. She was a little concerned Coif was serious about becoming a paladin. What had started as a jape rapidly seemed to be becoming a little too real. While Coif applied herself with a single-minded determined mindset, ignoring bruises and meekly accepting correction, she set about proving she was more than just a 'mere girl'. Imoen watched 'Sir 'Cam' while she attacked the dummy by rote. Her arms were sore and her muscles screamed. The heavy padded tunic was hot, and made her sweaty and slow.

Sir 'Cam made them run up and down the length of the hall, then around it, punctuated by squats, sit ups, push ups, and then he made them do it all again, this time wearing training armour, and then carrying backpacks with lead weights. He made them swing staves that weighed as much as their wooden practice swords, and then he made them try to lift a sword as tall as he was. It annoyed Immy how quickly Coif took to it, and surprised their tutor that she managed to lift it by the end of the first tenday. It just wasn't fair. And her eyes were set, fixed on some distant goal that frankly, scared Immy a little. She couldn't talk to Coif about it though, because by the time they got back to their cell, she was too exhausted. The first day, she had wanted to vomit and couldn't even roll out of bed.

By the fifth day, Immy was able to stand up without winching, but she couldn't stretch but Coif was up before she was, stretching before they started, and before she crawled into bed at night. She didn't know how she did it; maybe it was to stop the nightmares. Imoen didn't like to say anything, especially when it was unwanted, but she could hardly not hear Coif tensing under the blankets and gritting her teeth. When it got so bad her brow was sodden with sweat, Immy just slipped in beside her and held her until she calmed. Neither of them ever spoke of it but if hugging her was the only thing she could do to help, Imoen vowed to hug her until her arms fell off. She guessed it was about Gorion, and admitted to Coif that she had nightmares too. It earned her a hug in return. If nothing else, the hugs stopped the cell from feeling so cold.

The rest of their day was meant to be spent in study, and long, boring prayers, but somehow, Coif got them out of that by proving she knew more than the squires, who were meant to be senior to them, and with the threat of war, persuaded Sir 'Cam that her mind was already sharp but her steel was not. The prayers they didn't get out of, so Immy sat there and tried not to think about how much she hurt. She wasn't convinced Helm heard her, but she was certain Mask was amused. Who would have thought of little ole Immy ending up playing paladin? It wasn't as much fun as she thought. Still, there were a lot of pretty, if brainless boys around, and some really cool lady paladins. Cool in their looks, their walk and talk. Made of ice, with stern faces. Immy shivered. At least one of them was nice though.

Sir 'Cam seemed more thoughtful than impressed by Coif's progress, but if he was alarmed, he never showed it. When he allowed her to lift the big, heavy blade, she took to it and began to move like he had. All the time, her eyes were elsewhere, and when she snapped out of it, the three practice dummies had been cleaved in half. Perhaps to temper her, he set a squire against her. Coif took him down without hesitation. After that, she started sparring in secret with Anomen, at first lessons, and then with the other squires. By the time came for the marching orders, she was as mentally ready for battle was the squires. Imoen commented to Anomen how long it took to train a squire, and he replied 'years'. Sir 'Cam put a stop to the sparring when he learned of it, but by then it was too late. Coif, emulating the lady paladins, had adopted their cool. Shaking his head, he readied the Orders' defences. No one expected the Flaming Fist to breech Nashkel's pass, and that the hostilities would be over within a tenday, more a show from the new young Grand Duke than an actual invasion. Both sides would march their troops around, set up camp, maybe have a few bouts of single combat, and sit down to the negotiating table. Still, it was good practice for the recruits and younger squires to learn how to prepare.

Imoen noticed that among the squires, although not one, Coif stood out as being composed. Anticipation was rife, and though Anomen tried to remain cool, he couldn't hide his fervour any more than the other squires. Ajantis Ilvastarr, recently returned from the north, a former squire, or squire-taking-his-initiation, brought word of the declaration of war. It quickly became obvious Anomen held a grudge, feeling slighted Ajantis was chosen over him. Imoen didn't actually care, but listened all the same. She couldn't quite manage the same sympathy as Coif, but found by doing her best impression of Coif, it had a similar effect. Of course, rumours of war with Baldur's Gate wasn't the only rumour Imoen had heard.

Apparently, according to dinner table gossip, there was a 'guild war' taking place in Athkatla. Most of the squires considered it nonsense, but a few swore it was true. Dark figures battling shadows – Amn's Shadow Thieves, Imoen surmised, and bodies going missing. The higher ups were aware of it, but were too preoccupied with Baldur's Gate to pay it due heed. Once the war was over, the Order was sure to purge the city of such filth. Another squire claimed that Sir 'Cam had led an incursion against an eyeless cult. Whatever it was, it sounded absolutely disgusting, and Imoen had 'ew'd' several times at the horror tales. For once, she was actually grateful to Anomen for stopping them talking about plucking eyes. Coif had listened in silence, then wordlessly excused herself and retired to the training halls, as she did each night. It had become a sort of custom, and whether anyone challenged her or not, she would study the sword as she had studied books back home. Imoen sighed to herself more than once, and wondered if she was losing, or if she had already lost her friend.

"Lady Liana is certainly dedicated." One of the squires commented. Imoen didn't want to answer that, and left before Anomen could offer to defend Coif's honour over the imagined slight.

Within three tendays of their arrival, Nashkel had fallen to the Flaming Fist and the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart saw several of its members fall and Athkatla's city guard put to flight. Sir 'Cam greeted them with the grim announcement, putting an end to dinner. If Coif had carved out a home, Imoen was sure both of them were about to find themselves on the run again. She would have urged it, but the look in Coif's eyes suggested otherwise.


	5. 5

5

It was the first time they were allowed out. While the remainder of the Order marshalled themselves, Sir 'Cam had granted them leave to enter the city. Coif had no intention of going, fully certain the bounty hunters were still out there. Imoen pleaded with her, but fell silent when Coif seized her arm and hissed, "This is a test, to see if we'll cut and run."

When had she stopped being fun? Immy offered no more suggestions after that, but shrugged when Sir 'Cam saw her in the hallway, her shoulders drooping. "She won't go. Wants to train. An' I don't wanna go without her."

Surprising her, Sir 'Cam's expression was one of kindness. "We all need a break sometimes, even aspiring paladins. Speak with the supply master. I'm sure he'll have a job that needs doing." His grey eyes twinkled and she wanted to hug him. By the time she remembered he was a paladin, she already had, and broke away sheepishly. Sir 'Cam smiled a little awkwardly, and she darted off to find the quartermaster. That was when things started to go wrong. Allowing two recruits to leave the compound unescorted was simply not going to happen, the quartermaster declared, and dispatched Anomen to drive the cart and load up on crossbow quarrels. Why didn't the paladins have their own fletchers, Imoen wanted to ask, trying not to groan at the prospect of a morning spent with Anomen. Coif rather coldly agreed to the task when Imoen informed her.

"Aw, it'll be fun. When was the last time we saw the sun?"

Finally, Coif smiled. "You're right. Sorry, sis." Then she kissed her. "I've been so focused I've not been treating you well."

Imoen burst into tears, more from relief than anything else. Coif gave her a one armed hug and glanced up as Anomen wandered over. Imoen quickly dried her eyes, and tried not to glare at his rolling shoulders.

"Ready ladies? Lady Leowyn, is anything amiss?"

"Nup, not me. Flower-fever. Caught my eye."

"There are flowers…"

"In our room! I picked them this morning."

"Come along." That firm, commanding tone was back, and Immy tried not to sigh. Coif the cloistered scholar, Coif the bard, Coif the paladin. But where was Coif in all of it?

Somehow, they got separated. Anomen was bragging about the quality of the Order's steel to the mart's 'inferior blades', but Immy was more interested in the circus. She had never seen a circus before, but from the corner of her eye, she was sure she spied moving shadows. At first, she wondered if it was a trick of the light, but it was clearly people moving between the columns, people not wanting to be seen. Anomen was as oblivious as ever, and Coif was indulging him while she examined the forge's wares. Coif ignored the finery and focused on the metal, not that Immy cared about either, although the rose-hilted sword was very pretty, but liked to keep an eye on her. Coif didn't seem to notice the figures either. Feeling drawn by the forbidden, and knowing she shouldn't be, Immy edged closer. First past the lion cage, which was scary enough, and then around the back of the large, domed tent. The sewers! She remembered reading about drains, but fortunately, dealing with drains was one of the few chores she didn't have to deal with at home. How anyone could find drains interesting was beyond her, but now she understood. There _were_ people in them.

Anomen stepped inside the shop, leaving Coif to frown as Immy waved her over. With a sigh, Coif joined her, making a point to ignore the animals and their smell; she really was spending too much time around paladins, Immy decided privately.

"Lookit."

"Look what? At where?"

"Look where, at what." Immy corrected with a small smile. "There, in the drains."

Coif rolled her eyes. She really was quite unlikeable sometimes, Imoen glowered to herself.

"There are people." Imoen whispered. "See."

"We should go." Coif's voice began urgent. "Now."

"Why?"

"You don't feel it?"

"Feel… oh gods…" Imoen rubbed her arms briskly; they were stinging.

"Get down!" Coif shoved her to the ground, and began incanting. It wasn't the prayers the paladins offered Helm, but the sorcery of the Art, taught to them from childhood by her guardian. The northwest section of the market exploded. The circus tent was scattered and several of the animal cages were overturned, a couple crushed by the flying pieces of giant rock. Many tented stalls were overturned. The promenade was a place of grand marble pillars and different stepped levels holding different wares. The explosion rocked the very earth and it felt as if they would be swallowed up by the drains. Imoen covered her ears, coughing dust. Coif stood arms outstretched, maintaining a golden globe around them. Her eyes held a look Immy would never forget; grim determination, sweat beading her brow, and her teeth gritted. Massive chunks of pillar tore past them, shattering against the shield. Imoen dared to glimpse up; at the centre of the maelstrom was a broad-shouldered man. His face looked strange, but she never forgot those piercing blue eyes, or his words, amplified by his magic. So low, so cold, they chilled her to her very soul.

He was flanked by a dozen cowled figures, the same sort she'd spied in the drains. Half of them were turned to stone in an instant; the other half exploded in fire and ice. Then his eyes locked onto Coif's, just as several new figures appeared. These wore robes; Imoen recognised them instantly from the squires' descriptions: the Cowled Wizards. They tried to battle his magics, but he overwhelmed them; she would never forget their death cries, the squeals of horrified terror and pain, the knowledge of certain, unequivocal death… she felt something inside her stir, something she wasn't aware of . She swallowed and looked up. Coif was still staring at the strange mage, the shield still holding. Anomen was nowhere in sight. Then the mage spoke.

"Let this end."

Imoen couldn't make out and didn't care what the cowled mages were saying; her only concern was frantically tugging on Coif's leg. Coif didn't seem aware, transfixed by his unblinking eyes. "Come on, we have to get out of here!"

"You bore me mageling. You may take me, but you will take the girl as well."

"What?" Immy all but screamed, "You can't–" She found her mouth wasn't working, her words weren't moving. Coif had uttered another spell, and Immy struggled to move her now leaden limbs.

The remaining Cowled Wizards uttered an incantation and they, the mage, and Coif disappeared.

That was the last time she ever saw her.


	6. 6

6

Imoen was devastated. She never thought it could happen. She and Coif had always been together, through thick and thin, the best of bestest best friends ever. It made her sick to think what had happened. She expected they had executed the strange mage, but all she cared about was Coif. Why had he insisted they take her? Where had they taken her? Was he a bounty hunter? As she stumbled through the rumble, she tried to make her way to Anomen, but large chunks of the columns were everywhere. She finally found him, and pulled him to his feet after he pleaded with his god for his wounds to seal. His leg had been broken and his side lanced with shards. His armour had spared him the worst of the damage, but his ribs were cracked, he wheezed.

It was too far to the Order's compound, and there was no way Imoen was staying put, not after what just happened. She was too angry to even see straight, too hurt to think. Coif would have a way out of this, but Coif was gone. The finality of that sentence made her heart wrench, her stomach lurch and her guts knot. Anomen wanted to stay there, but Imoen wouldn't let him. Too weak to argue, he conceded and they struggled through the streets to his father's house. The Delryn estate was not quite what Imoen expected, but she didn't care. She also didn't care that the horse had survived and had responded to Anomen's call, and it was only due to the poor beast that they had even arrived at the estate. The grand and courtly home the estate was not; it seemed more like a derelict in places, but Imoen didn't care about that either. Once inside, after the servant had finally responded, and helped him to his sister's chamber, she left him on the bed. Anxiousness gripped her every fibre as she paced, and her fist clenched and struck the windowpane's iron frame.

Moira rushed up the staircase and went straight towards her brother. Imoen didn't care, but couldn't help noticing how pretty the dark haired, fair young woman was. Older than she was. Her shock was audible and she immediately started issuing orders, demanding a bowl of boiled water and calling for a healer. Unable to watch, Imoen turned her back on the scene and saw her reflection's tears.

Word was sent to the Order, and Sir 'Cam dispatched a reply saying healers would be delayed. The Order had suffered a catastrophic defeat and the arms of Sarevok Anchev, the young Grand Duke, was marching on the city. Every sword was needed. The Cowled Wizards, outnumbering the Fist's Battle Mages, had been unable to slow their advance, and the reports spoke of a giant armoured figure with a terrible sword and glowing golden eyes who strode around the battlefield hewing foe and ally alike. The news was brought by one of the other recruits who said Sir 'Cam would not go into any more detail, but the entire Order thought Prelate Wessalen had fallen in battle along with Ajantis and most of the others. Anomen tried to rise, but Moira had none of it and shooed the recruit away saying the war would have to do without her brother. The recruit uncertain of what to do, bowed and left. Imoen could hear Moira's sigh and after telling her brother to rest or he'd be no use to anyone, she made her way over to her.

"Thank you for bringing him here."

Imoen didn't reply.

"You lost someone?"

Kindness and sympathy were two things Immy couldn't bear right then. She afforded the smallest nod, then found her eyes welling up. Somehow, Moira's hand found her shoulder and through the haze of stinging, vicious, hot salt water, words spilled out. "They took her! Those bastards took her!"

"Who?"

"My sister!"

The story surged out, Coif's use of the Art to shield her, how she saved her, but nothing more. Moira listened in silence, nodded and said softly, "We'll do our best to get her back."

"You don't know that! You don't know where they've taken her!"

"I've an idea." Moira admitted. "I'll try to use father's connections, as soon as I can, as soon as this is over. It's the least I can do after what you did for Ano."

Imoen managed another nod, and found herself hugging and being hugged, clinging.

"It'll be okay."

She couldn't bring herself to believe it any more than she could bring herself to give up on Coif.


	7. 7

7

Lord Cor was a wretch of a man, in Anomen's words. A belligerent drunk. Paladins weren't supposed to speak of their fathers that way, but Imoen was inclined to agree. Lady Moirala Delryn was dead, and Lord Cor intended to join her through the consumption of spirits. Even from his sickbed, Anomen refused to let the old man in. Imoen learned from Moira, after she had a long bath in her hostess' chambers, that Lord Cor refused to sponsor Anomen application for the Order and so Anomen had to begin as a priest, not as a warrior as he had hoped. This had set him back some years, which is why Ajantis and other younger paladins had finished their initiation before he had even had a chance to prove himself.

Imoen sat and listened in silence. Moira spoke in fond, sad tones, and Imoen realised Coif would have found a kindred spirit in her. Through pauses, Imoen offered fragments of her own story, how she never knew her mother, how Coif was the only family she'd ever known. Moira's tight smile and even tighter squeeze of her hand helped ease things a little. Lord Cor burst into the chambers, spouting abuse and waving his hands, demanding that Anomen be put out of the house, but Moira very firmly showed him out, shut and turned the key in the double doors with a long sigh. Anomen stirred in the adjacent chamber. The scarlet curtains on the four poster were drawn, and the door was slightly ajar, enough for her to hear her brother's wheeze. Periodically, she rose and changed the basin's water, wiping his brow and changing the dressings.

Lord Cor was already deep in the drink, and Imoen had no desire to deal with more lewd comments. She had put up with enough of that from the guards at home. Coif never let it get too far, just as she never let the comments get too far with Coif. They looked out for each other. More tears welled up, and Imoen found herself holding a glass of firewine.

"Jhuild from Rashemen." Moira explained quietly and lifted her glass. "To family."

Imoen could drink to that, and did.

Within the next three days, it became clear they were trapped in the city. The city guard was barely able to keep order, and barricaded the government and temple district, where the wealthy made their homes. Across the river in the slums, rioting and looting were commonplace, fires started even before Grand Duke Anchev arrived. The docks were sealed, some ships having left the harbour where they could, and others swarmed. The Cowled Wizards prepared a defence of the city, the regions they deemed important, while the Shadow Thieves supposedly prepared the slums and docks. Moira explained the so-called 'guild war' had taken a great toll on the Shadow Thieves, if her father's clients were to be believed. Hers was a mercantile house, and Anomen was meant to inherit, but betrayed his father's will by joining the Order. Despite summoning a healer, a hedgewitch who knew little more than to save his leg, Moira seemed unable to find a cleric in spite of her father's resources and Anomen's own standing.

Imoen didn't think it would be long now. The refugees were already swarming out of the city, carrying whatever they could, and the streets were thronged with crowds. The nobles, according to the rants of Lord Cor, thought they could negotiate. Moira organised a way out, but acknowledged her brother believed his place was here. Lord Cor refused to leave, claiming he would 'die as a lord before he would live as a pauper'. Moira rolled her eyes, but there was nothing she could do to dissuade him. When she finally begged him, her father retorted he would never share a cart with 'that traitor', and returned to his drinking cabinet.

Imoen shrugged. She felt for Moira, but she didn't care enough about Cor to try to make him leave. She had seen the scarlet marks his hands had left on Moira and the servants in his darkest moods. Whether it was from flailing as they tried to ease him into bed, or whether from malice, she didn't know. But then she thought of Coif, and shame filled her.

"You're a fool." She told him, finding the words she knew Coif would use, in the tone Coif would use them. "You stay here and you deserve to die. You love your self-pity more than your family."

For a moment, it broke him. Then he snarled and lashed out, waving the half-empty brandy bottle. "What do you know? Get out of my home! Get out!"

She did, and so did Moira, and Anomen, and most of the few remaining servants. Only the oldest stayed with him, knowing he would slow the others down. Bribing the guards ahead of time, Moira pressed further coin into their hands and they quit the city under the cover of cowls amidst the streaming hordes of now-destitute Amnish citizens. Trademeet was the nearest town, but it was still too close, and on cart, they headed for Tethyr. Moira said the Delyn family had contacts in the port city of Zazesspur, Tethyr's former capital, and from there, they could catch a ship and quit the Sword Coast altogether. The three of them and her maid, old nurse, and cook could make a new life elsewhere.

Imoen wasn't having any of it. "I'm going to find Coif."

Moira hesitated. Immy could see what she was thinking: if she was still alive…

"I'll go by myself if I have to."

"Spellhold isn't easy to get to. The Cowled Wizards may retreat there if they fail to hold Athkatla."

"I don't care."

Moira took her arm. "Im, what would Coif want?"

The tears came as readily as they had before. She set her chin stubbornly. It didn't matter what Coif would want, not if there was a hope in the Nine Hells she was still alive.

"We might be able to find a mage in Zazesspur who will be willing to help."

"Might." Being ungracious was something Coif had personified and perfected at age thirteen, and Imoen had learned to mimic it to exact likeness.

"We could always swim to the island."

She made a face, sighed, and nodded. Then she flared, "But if there isn't–"

"Then we'll keep searching until we find one."

"Promise?" Her eyes shone with defiant challenge.

"By my brother's life."

They embraced, and more tears rose to the fore.


	8. 8

8

Tethyr was no safer than Amn. Warlords had risen up and were fighting in bands numbering sometimes hundreds. The strongest of these took the form of a Fire Giant named 'Yuga-Shura', and a blue dragon named 'Abazigal'. Even before they reached Tethyr, the city of Saradush fell to the forces of the half-orc Gromnir Il-Khan. The royal arms of Tethyr were put to flight long before the banner of Sarevok Anchev marched through Amn and into battle against the warlords.

The cry on everyone's lips was 'Bhaalspawn'. The dead god of Murder's revenge had come, and now the masses were murdered in droves every day. Imoen remembered the chanters from her time at home. Every day they would chant about the prophecies of Alaundo, who foretold this time. Terror and chaos gripped the Sword Coast, but the nightmares she had each night were more immediate. She had failed her sister. In the cart, she was squished up against the plank-wall and Moira, Anomen beside his sister. Sharing a cart between three was extremely cramped, but there was no other choice. Three on, three off. The servants managed through the night, and they took the day shift. Anomen was still too weak to do much, and Moira refused to leave Imoen alone while the 'night terrors' gripped her.

It was something that annoyed Imoen as much as she was secretly grateful for. They had had to scare off bandits more than once, but because they had grouped with other refugees, there were enough of them to see off any small bands, and the larger bands had bigger problems to deal with, and richer pickings in the form of towns and cities.

Eventually, they reached Tethyr, and somehow, managed to avoid the armies of the Bhaalspawn, who seemed to war with each other as much as anyone else. More than once, they spied banners on the horizon, but both times, they were moving in opposite directions and the one time the banners moved towards them turned out to be a scattered contingent of Tethyr's arms. The word was that some mad elf had drained a tree to become a god, supplanting several existing gods, and now the elves were in a state of chaos. It seemed a mad a rumour as any other, and word that Amn had fallen was far more pressing than hearsay and tall tales. The entire city had been put to the torch, along with the town of Trademeet, who surrendered to the Grand Duke. The word was that the Duke himself was a Bhaalspawn, but no one had lived long enough after facing him to confirm or deny the rumour.

Imoen felt more than a pang of regret. She had liked Sir 'Cam, in spite of him being a stuffy ole paladin. Coif had admired and respected him too. It didn't seem right. If the city had fallen, he would have gone down fighting with it. She hoped he was off somewhere herding refugees to safety, but she wasn't holding her breath.

"What about the Lord's Alliance?" Moira asked.

"They won't get involved." The Tethyr lieutenant sighed wearily. "Several of Anchev's men deserted, but his numbers swell every day. He'll reach Saradush within a tenday if that bastard Yaga-Shura hasn't torched it already."

Moira nodded slowly. "Will you escort us to Zazesspur, captain?"

"I'm a lieutenant, m'lady, and I have to reform the regiment."

"What about the refugees?" Her words were a whiplash and shamed him instantly. "Isn't your duty to the realm? Your armies are broken, your superior dead. Take command and do your duty, for these people if not Tethyr's glory."

He looked at the beleaguered faces, dirty, too weary to dare hope and nodded.

By the time they reached Zazesspur, Saradush had fallen, and Yaga-Shura had been felled by Anchev's blade. Once away from the Sword Coast, Imoen remembered how much she hated the sea. Losing track of the days, they arrived on the Moonshae Isles after what seemed like an eternity of nausea. From Lord Cor's contacts, they were made welcome at a trading partner's home, and treated as honoured guests. It did not take long for the conflict to be settled; word reached them within the next month that Anchev had slain all in his path, even slaying the great blue dragon Abazigal, and ascending Bhaal's empty throne. The Lord of Murder was reborn. The elves on the isle spoke of another newly risen deity, a demon in elven flesh. 'Soul stealer', the translation read. 'Tree killer'. It was not long before a new gods war broke out, the two newly made deities trying to absorb each others' domain, attempting to slaughter any who stood against them.

Imoen felt numb. The dreams had stopped, but she was lost. Moira's arms held little comfort, and though Anomen swiftly recovered, there were no words he could offer or she could say to reduce the pain they each felt. He had lost his honour, his home, his Order, and she had lost Coif. Moira held them together, treating them with gentleness and patience, as two wounded animals, with hurts too broken for the eye to see.

Through talks and discussions, she handled the family business, noting that most of the family's wealth was out of Amn when Athkatla fell. Cargo, she explained, travelled in ships, and their holdings and warehouses, though small, occupied several key ports. It could be, and would be, rebuilt. The first thing she did was find a mage willing to join her new company, and set aside a side venture: recovery. Much of Athkatla had been looted, but many vaults still remained, and slowly, the people began to filter back into it. Cults of terror ambushed many, but trade went on, and her side venture included the recovery and return of objects and items to claimants. Since Spellhold belonged to the Cowled Wizards, and they were scattered to the wind, but for a few holed up inside, quivering in their own cells and gibbering about 'death', it was easy to begin negotiations with them. It turned out that the mage had quickly overthrown the prison warden, and begun experimenting on the prisoners there. Spellhold was meant to be an asylum, a place of healing. Instead, it was a place of torment and murder.

Coif was a child of Bhaal, and the mage had taken her soul for his own. The survivors knew little else, but Moira sent them to the temples of Ilmater. Spellhold's arcane mysteries she claimed for the company. More inquiries, and rumours pieced together suggested that the mage had led an army of infernal allies to attack the elven city of Suldanessellar and no one knew, or would say what happened next. None of this appeased Imoen, and at night, she would weep for her sister until Moira, roused from her neighbouring bunk, would engulf her in her slender arms. With the dawn, she would wash her face and wonder how to go on. Anomen smiled sadly at her, and tried to cheer her, but his heart was not in it. Pursing her lips, Moira's solution was simple yet effective; she placed Anomen in charge of training the new recruits that were to go on excursions through Athkatla's ruins. For Imoen, she simply kept her close and let her explore the items of arcane lore under the supervision of the company mage. For now, it was enough.


	9. 9

9

One night, between the silken sheets, Imoen dreamt. It was a dream like those of three years before. The gods' war raged on, but this time was different. The shining blade of what could only be a solar pierced the breast of a piercing blue-eyed demon. She knew that stare anywhere. With a cry, he fell backwards, a precipice opening up. From the falling shadow, an ethereal figure of white stepped out. Fury was in her eyes, and a blade was in her hand.

Imoen awoke with a start. Not quite sure of her surroundings, she pulled back from the shaking hand.

"Im, Im, wake up. They say the Lord of Murder is dead, slain."

"Huh?"

"There's a new symbol in his temples. Get dressed, you have to see this."

"See what?" Sleepily, she rubbed her eyes. "Moi-ra."

She held it in front of her. The skull with tears was gone, the imprint of where it was still clear. In its place was a mail hood. A coif.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Imoen smiled. Moira laughed in delight and kissed her. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yeah." Then yawning, she settled back to sleep. The smile didn't leave her lips for a long time.


End file.
